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SIS 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY 


BY 

W. H. COFFEY, M. D. 

Author of ‘‘TIM’’ and Others Stories 



» > ) 


PRESS OR 

BURTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 


KANSAS CITY, MO. 


By 

W. H. COFFEY, M. D. 



©CLA256206 


To Ail Those in Whom it Strikes a Sympathetic 
Chord, This Little Book is Dedicated. 

















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CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I. The Two Friends 

1 1 

Chapter 

II. The News* Boy. 

22 

Chapter 

III. The Begger Child. 

3i 

Chapter 

IV. The Father. 

40 

Chapter 

V. The Begger Child Again. 

50 

Chapter 

VI. The Police Station. 

57 

Chapter 

VII. Sis is Found. 

67 

Chapter 

VIII. Sis’s Story. 

73 

Chapter 

IX. Sis’s Death. 

83 

Chapter 

X. Mamie. 

90 


I 



Chapter i. 


“Then how can we wonder at crime in our land, 

When riches o’erbalance Justice’s scales held in 
hand?" 

It had been one of those lazy- 
drizzly days in the early part of 
a winter, not long ago, and now as 
the evening came on the raindrops 
were rapidly changing to flakes of 
snow. Two friends, one a city gen- 
tleman and the other a countryman, 
sat in genial conversation before 
a cheerful open fire in the latter’s 
home. 

“If I could have known that 
Providence intended to give us this 
kind of weather I would have re- 
11 


12 


sis. 


mained at home today," said the 
city gentleman with an expression 
of deep regret, as he walked across 
the room and looked out of the win- 
dow of his friend's comfortable 
country home at the fields, beyond 
which, not far away, could be seen 
the Missouri river as it ran its 
snake-like course through the val- 
ley. For his heart had been set on 
spending the day in the fields with 
his dog and gun, and not indoors 
as he had been compelled to do. 

“Why do you fret, Jim? I can't 
help but think that something is 
wrong with a fellow when he begins 
to find fault with the weather. To- 
morrow may be just your kind of a 
day, especially if the snow doesn't 
prove to be too deep for the game 
to run. Then, you see, it will be 
some other poor devil’s opportunity 
to complain; for instance, when I 
go out to grapple in the snow for 
feed for the stock." 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


13 


“But,” said the other, “it makes 
but little difference with me what 
kind of a day tomorrow may be, for 
I go to the city and to my work, 
for I have only twenty-four hours’ 
leave of absence.” 

“Is that so, Jim?” said his friend, 
with a slight tone of irony in his 
voice, almost forgetting that he 
was a host. Then he said, soften- 
ing a little, “You know I am so 
free out here in this old country 
home of mine where I have lived all 
my life that I forget you city fel- 
lows are a part of a machine. When 
you come out here I suppose I am 
to understand that you have simply 
dropped out, as it were, to be oiled. 
What part of that machine,” again 
becoming ironical, ; “that you fel- 
lows so ardently worship, are you 
anyway, Jim? From the way you 
talk and act one would judge that 
you are the part that moves the 
whole concern, perhaps you are the 


14 


sis. 


main piston rod and I do declare 
it is just too bad that you have not 
been able to get the kind of oil you 
dropped out for, and the Lord only 
knows when you will find the time 
to drop out again, eh? Then I guess 
there is no help for it, you must be 
placed back in position promptly 
at one o'clock tomorrow, or the ma- 
chine — well, the wheels won't go 
around, and there'll be no grinding 
done — but then you say that must 
not happen, she must go, ile or no 
ile, eh?" 

“Be reasonable, John. You are a 
sensible fellow, but surely you do 
not understand or else you are mak- 
ing fun of me. If I should stay 
with you a day — yes, an hour — 
over my time I might as well re- 
main with you the balance of my 
lifetime so far as my position is 
concerned. You know I can’t afford 
to lose my job. Why, don’t you 
know, John, I would have my time 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 15 


and my discharge papers thrust in 
my hands the moment I dared to 
put my face in the office door. This 
is a selfish world. You living here 
in this peaceful home, a king in 
your independence, cannot appre- 
ciate the real situation of those who 
battle from day to day in our com- 
mercial centers for the staff of life, 
without knowing what tomorrow 
may bring forth. How can a man 
be independent with a wife and 
children depending on him for sup- 
port, and he on his employer for 
wages? He belongs to his employ- 
er; he is a slave !” 

At the close of this little speech 
the sturdy farmer arose and kicked 
together the chunks of wood which 
had burned in two and rolled upon 
the hearth of the old-fashioned fire- 
place, with such vigor that if any 
one of them had been a Boss of a 
city machine he would have been 
placed beyond medical aid, but his 


16 


sis. 


kicks only caused the flames to leap 
higher and roar with defiance and 
snap with anger in his very face, 
just as the Boss would have done 
with delight. 

Having given vent to his feelings 
somewhat in this manner, he thrust 
his hands deep down in his trowser 
pockets and with bowed head he 
began walking, continuing thus for 
some time in silence; then he stop- 
ped before the window where his 
friend had stood when they first 
began to talk, and looked out upon 
the cold, desolate night. It had 
grown cold rapidly while the 
friends were talking, the snow 
storm was on in earnest and the 
blackness of the earth was gone 
from sight. The wind moaned with 
a doleful tone around the corners 
of the house as if it was sad because 
its victims were few, for out there 
all were safely housed; even the 
stock was sheltered in their warm 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 17 


stalls. He noticed the tone of the 
wind, for the sound was a fit accom- 
paniment to the thoughts that were 
uppermost in the farmer's mind. 

Save the noise of the wind and 
the tick, tick of the family clock as 
it stood on the mantel-piece, wit- 
nessing this scene as it had witness-, 
ed many before from the position 
where it had stood for years, just 
over the fireplace, the old house was 
as quiet as a churchyard could be 
at that time of night, for the friends 
were busy each with his own 
thoughts. There they stood, John 
looking out on the white world, 
yet conscious of the blackness be- 
neath, and Jim gazing into the spa- 
cious fireplace — and thus they per- 
haps would have remained for a 
longer time had not the clock 
brought John to himself by pro- 
claiming the lateness of the hour. 

“Did you hear that, Jim? it is 
cruel in me to keep you up so late 


18 


sis. 


when you go to your work so 
early.” 

“But don't you know, John,” said 
the other, “I would give two or 
three nights’ sleep if necessary for 
the pleasure of talking over the 
problems of life with you, as we 
have done tonight? Such talks are 
worth more to me than a thousand 
flowery sermons heard while rest- 
ing in a cushioned pew in some of 
our fashionable churches. I shall 
go back to the city and to my work 
tomorrow better able to contend 
with the disagreeable things of this 
life than ever before; conscious of 
the fact that I have one friend to 
whom I can go, and one place where 
I can enjoy life to some extent in 
spite of the many difficulties we 
have to face from day to day in our 
great cities.” 

“I also am glad that we have had 
this talk, Jim. It reminds me of the 
way we used to talk things over 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


19 


when we were at school together. 
But I am sorry to hear you say that 
you are going back to the city so 
soon, for I tell you now, old partner 
and I want you to put it into your 
pipe and smoke it hard and strong, 
I am dead against the city and city 
ways. If I had a child, a girl or a 
boy, I would as soon raise it in hell 
as to raise it there. Now, that is 
pretty strong language and you 
must excuse the expression, but I 
mean it. Some may like the hustle 
and bustle of the city; the rattling 
of the cars; the shrill whistle of the 
steam engine; the glare of the 
lights, but Oh, how can they forget 
that there are many dark places 
among the rich and the poor in the 
cities, that the lights never reach; 
dark, dark as ten thousand holes 
of Calcutta. I would rather see 
God’s own sunlight shade out into 
the gentle evening twilight, than a 
million electric lights. Yes, I would 


20 


sis. 


rather hear the frogs croak than 
hear the engines’ whistle, but the 
saddest of all is the insincerity so 
apparent in all your city life. I 
love to meet a friend whose voice 
has the ring of sincerity and whose 
warm hand-grasp gives you a true 
welcome. In the cities, so long 
as your money lasts, to use a com- 
mon phrase, you are it — when that 
is gone, you are forgotten. If you 
would avoid the stink of the gaso- 
line, you should ride in the au- 
tomobile. Sham and deceitfulness 
is written everywhere in your city 
life, while out here every thing is 
real and true to nature. That is 
why I love this simple country soli- 
tude. I have had my heart strings 
pulled just about as hard as I can 
stand it by acts I have seen in your 
city.” 

"Actions of some particular one 
of the fair sex, eh, John?” 

"Now look here, Jim, if I thought 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


21 


that you were in earnest I would 
get mad, but that is altogether a 
mistake. You know there is not a 
city-bred woman among your ac- 
quaintances that could milk a cow 
to my notion. They don't know 
whether we milk the milk or milk 
the butter, and half of them think 
that eggs grow on vines like gourds 
and the other half haven't a single 
intelligent thought about anything 
except the latest fashions." 


Chapter ii. 


“All passed on their way; not one of them knew. 

That this was one of Christ.s little ones too, " 

‘'No, no, not that. Nonsense. I 
have lived a bachelor all these years 
and expect to remain such. There 
are many things that occur in our 
cities to make one look on the dark 
side of life as you know. For in- 
stance, the other day while in the 
city I stood and watched a parade. 
It was a gala day for the City of 
the Kaw. The parade was made up 
of the many unions, each with their 
banners unfurled to the September 
breeze, with their mottos inscribed 
22 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


23 


thereon, all keeping step to the mar- 
tial music. Out at the park in the 
afternoon men of national reputa- 
tion were pouring forth their elo- 
quence to a goodly crowd, a large 
number of whom, I noticed, were 
women. I returned to the city be- 
fore the speaking was over, in order 
to catch my train, and to my sur- 
prise I saw a great number of men 
with labor badges on going with 
unsteady steps in and out of houses 
with frosted windows and lattice 
doors. 1 thought to myself, what 
a pity, what a pity, and then again 
I thought, human nature demands 
some kind of recreation and perhaps 
this is the first holiday they have 
had for months. 

“Another day I was in the same 
city. It was during one of those 
heavy snows of last winter. You 
may have seen the same scene 
yourself, for it is a common 
thing in our large cities, if you 


24 


sis. 


will only stop long enough to 
observe it. I had stopped for 
a minute on the corner of one 
of the busy streets. The wind 
was blowing cold and had swept 
the snow from the west front door 
of a terra cotta brick building and 
piled it in large drifts just around 
the corner. On the corner of this 
building in gilded letters was the 
words, ‘The Sun.’ 

“Noiselessly there came a car- 
riage of the latest style, drawn by 
a span of black horses, their harness 
covered with gold buckles, glisten- 
ing in the sunshine as it now and 
then struck through the flying- 
clouds. A coachman, with two long 
rows of gold buttons on his coat, in 
keeping with the buckles on the 
horses' harness, alighted and open- 
ed the carriage door. Then I saw 
a man and a woman, who at once 
reminded me of the fairy story, 
‘The Beauty and the Beast.' I look- 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


25 


ed the man’s countenance over in 
vain for a single line of kindred hu- 
man feeling. I would no more have 
thought of asking him for a kind- 
ness than I would of asking the 
devil for mercy. The contrast made 
the woman beautiful. They stepped 
out, wrapped in costly furs and 
robes, and passed along the wind- 
swept path, which God seemed to 
have made for them, into the office. 
I pulled my own light overcoat 
more closely about me as I crossed 
the street. Just then I was stopped 
by a child’s voice, ‘Last edition of 
the Evening Sun,’ he cried. I turn- 
ed to get a look at him. He, seeing 
me turn around, naturally thought 
I wanted a paper, but I did not, and 
was about to move on when in a 
more pleading voice he said, as his 
little hand held it out to me, seeing 
he was about to lose a sale, ‘Mister, 
won’t you buy a paper?’ I bought 
a paper, for I could not resist the 


26 


sis. 


pleading look and tone — as I took 
it and gave him a piece of money, I 
saw that he was clad in an old coat 
which once belonged to someone 
many sizes larger than himself, 
and through the large meshes in the 
cheap stockings I could see the skin 
of his legs, as the cold wind whistled 
between them. His shoes were worn 
into holes and he was without rub- 
bers. He looked like a frightened 
animal held at bay by bloodhounds, 
as he stood there shivering in the 
cold. He was one of those little fel- 
lows of about six or seven years 
with a face much too old for his lit- 
tle frame. And as I turned away I 
could not help thinking to myself, 
Svhat a pity that this child, who 
should be under the tender care ot 
his mother — what a disgrace to our 
civilization, that under a legal sys- 
tem he is forced out upon the streets 
to sell papers for the few pennies 
his efforts may bring toward the 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


27 


support of the family.’ Then I 
thought of the man I saw get out 
of the carriage a few moments be- 
fore, and the awful inequality of 
human conditions forced themsel- 
ves upon my attention. The boy 
was a slave to the man, and every 
paper that he sold added to the lat- 
ter’s wealth. Talk about hell in 
the hereafter, it is here and now, 
where mothers haven’t clothes or 
food for their little ones; where 
pinched and half-starved faces are 
lifted to hers for assistance in vain. 

“This, a Christian nation? A 
government whose interest in the 
liquor traffic by law creates an ap- 
petite in its subjects that sends 
them into the direst poverty and 
crime! A government where it is 
possible that one man in a short 
lifetime can make? — steal one hun- 
dred and forty-nine million dollars 
while millions suffer for the neces- 
sities of life! 


28 


sis. 


‘'A man who comes into my house 
at the dead hours of midnight and 
steals from me, is called a thief. I 
have the right to kill him or to send 
him to jail — but the man who holds 
me up in broad daylight and takes 
away from me by force that which 
rightfully belongs to me is a robber 
of which there are two kinds, the 
little and the big. The former you 
may kill or send to jail if you can 
as you would a common thief, but 
the latter you cannot, for he is what 
they call a legal robber — do you un- 
derstand it? I can not. However, 
something is wrong with it all, or 
else it is a mistake our teaching 
that the only life worth the while is 
service to mankind. 

“But this is not what I started 
to say. As awful as this is, the 
other of which I was about to speak 
comes to me as a personal matter, 
therefore to me so serious and has 
been a trouble in my life so long, 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


29 


that it is always on my mind. Late- 
ly things have happened which fill 
my thoughts by day and my dreams 
by night. It seems to me that if I 
could tell it to some true friend it 
would help me. Since Mother went, 
you know I have had no one to go 
to in confidence when things go 
wrong with me. 

“As I stood at the window just 
now, the whole matter passed in re- 
view before me, for it was just such 
a night as this, only it was colder 
and the cruel wind moaned more 
sadly and piled the snow in deeper 
drifts around the corners of the 
large buildings in the city.” 

Then he stopped and made some 
remark about the tobacco being 
very strong, that it fairly choked 
him and affected his eyes, which 
were weak. “I had my eyes tested 
and fitted for glasses,” he explained, 
as he removed and rubbed them 
vigorously, “but they are no good.” 


30 


sis. 


The memory of it all just then 
was too much for words. His friend 
understood it and after a little he 
said, “Go on, John, tell me all about 
it — what is troubling you?” 

“No, I had just thought of telling 
you when the clock struck, and now 
you must not be kept up from your 
rest a minute longer, listening to 
the ramblings of an old bachelor 
farmer.” 

“You can make me go to bed if 
you will, John, but you cannot 
make me sleep, neither can I make 
myself. I have a woman’s curios- 
ity and you have told me too much 
already not to tell me the rest, 
therefore, you might as well settle 
yourself down and relieve your 
mind. If it takes you all night, I 
will get an early start to the city, 
you see.” 


Chapter iii. 


"It was at dusk on a winter’s day 

That one of Christ’s little ones begged her way.’’ 

After some hesitation the farmer 
replied, “Well, fill your pipe with 
some of that old Virginia twist and 
when you leave off smoking, mind 
you, I will know that you are get- 
ting sleepy and will cut my story 
short. 

“It was early on a December 
evening, followed, as I was saying, 
by just about such a night as this, 
that after I had gotten through 
with my business at the stock yards 
I started out and soon found myself 
upon one of the busv thoroughfares 
31 ' 


32 


sis. 


of the city, without any place in 
particular to go and without any- 
thing specially to do. I knocked 
along, or rather was jostled along, 
without being noticed by anyone 
save now and then a poor, forlorn 
brother begging for enough money 
to get a cup of coffee or a supper. 
Their red noses and bleary eyes told 
me too plainly what they wanted; 
they were old timers, you know, 
who know a countryman at first 
sight, hayseed or no hayseed, for 
they make us fellows their specialty. 

“It is one of my peculiarities, I 
suppose, that when I am in a large 
city and have the time I always get 
upon one of the most frequented 
streets and watch the faces of the 
various people as they go by in the 
endless procession of humanity. I 
can’t say that I enjoy this, for one 
sees a great many disagreeable 
faces, and is apt to become soured 
by judging his fellow man too 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


33 


harshly, but unconsciously I find 
myself speculating on the different 
characters that drift past in the hu- 
man tide. 

"Here I spot a Jew, there a Gen- 
tile, now and then a man whom you 
feel you can trust as a brother, then 
one who goes slipping by in the 
thickest of the crowd, who makes 
you think of the murderer in the 
alley only waiting for a chance to 
stab you in the back. Then there 
is the character you nearly always 
see in the crowd, the hypocrite with 
his sugared smile on — meek, oh, 
yes, but just under the sheep’s 
clothing you can see the wolf’s hide. 
He goes to church? Yes, very like- 
ly, yet if he prays he simply prays 
his soul deeper into hell, for if 
there is a place in that infernel re- 
gion hotter than another, there you 
may look for the hypocrite. There 
goes a lawyer, a doctor, a man of 
business, all rapidly passing in one 


34 


sis. 


mixed mass of humanity ; some tall, 
some short, some broad, some nar- 
row, then I wonder how many are 
broad in mind and soul. 

“Among all these faces are two, 
one sometimes sees in these crowds, 
that, having once seen, are never 
forgotten — one is the face that 
Riley so aptly describes when he 
says : 

‘I caught for a second across the crowd, 
Just for a second and barely that, 

A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed, 

Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim’d hat, 
With small grey eyes of a look as keen 
As the long, sharp nose that grew be- 
tween. 

And I said, ’tis a sketch of Nature’s own 
Drawn in the dark o’ the moon, I swear, 
On a tattler of Fate that the winds have 
blown 

Hither and thither and everywhere; 
With its keen, little, sinister eyes of grey 
And nose like the beak of a bird of prey. 

and the other is a sad, child-like 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


35 


face, prematurely old, marked with 
the unmistakable lines of suffering, 
with haunting eyes that you look 
into deeply and seem to see the very 
soul quivering there — honest, con- 
fiding eyes, seen only in the head of 
the innocent. 

“It was just such a face as this 
that I saw that evening, Jim, that 
I want to tell you about. It was a 
little girl, she could not have been 
more than ten years old, if that. She 
sat there on the sidewalk holding 
in her little, bony hand a battered 
tin cup. Her eyelids were drooping 
and I could not see her eyes at first. 
I stepped aside, without knowing 
why, but I know now — it was to see 
how many fathers and mothers 
would stop and give alms to that 
poor little mite there on the side- 
walk, wrapped in a coarse, tattered 
shawl. I must have stood there ful- 
ly ten minutes — it seemed much 
longer to me — but not one stopped, 


36 


sis. 


and surely there were many fathers 
and mothers passed by her while I 
stood there. Some of them must 
have been fathers and mothers for 
they bore the marks of age with 
care lines written on their faces 
which we so often see on the faces 
of parents. Many of them were 
clothed in the robes of the rich, and 
I noticed that they avoided touch- 
ing her as much as the crowd would 
permit, as though she were some- 
thing unclean, passing by with their 
costly robes drawn closely about 
their persons as if afraid she would 
contaminate them. 

“But just as one of them in warm 
furs brushed by the child closer 
than usual, she looked up and I saw 
her wistful eyes following the pass- 
er-by. It was only for a moment, 
simply the glance of a beggar child, 
but it was as an electric shock to 
me. My first impulse was to clasp 
the child to my breast. In a mo- 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 37 


ment I said to myself, ‘Impossible, 
it cannot be.’ 

“Jim, did you ever stand on the 
banks of a stream while men with 
grappling hooks fished for the body 
of an unknown person and, just as 
the cry came to your ears that they 
have found it, the thought comes to 
you, ‘Perhaps this is my brother?’ 
You turn away with awe at the 
very thought, you feel as though 
you can not bear to see the corpse, 
with those rusty iron hooks buried 
deep into the flesh of your broth- 
er. I tell you, Jim, it makes a 
mighty difference whether it is bone 
of your bone and flesh of your flesh, 
or not. For a moment I had seen 
my lost sister in those eyes and it 
was with the greatest effort that I 
refrained from crying aloud, ‘Sis, 
Sis !’ for that was what I always 
called her.” 

He stopped and looked long into 
the fire. What he saw there no one 


38 


sis. 


will ever know — presently he went 
on: 

“I have never told you, Jim, for 
I have not spoken of it to anyone 
for a long time, not since Mother’s 
death, but at the time I left school 
so suddenly, as you remember, I 
had a sister who left home, just at 
that age when she was neither a 
girl nor woman, a thoughtless, yet 
a responsible age. When I arrived 
home I found the old folks greatly 
disturbed, and when I asked my 
mother where Sis was, and when 
she would come home again, I re- 
member Mother simply turned her 
head away and hid her face in her 
apron and then sat down in tho 
chimney corner there, and my fa- 
ther put out his trembling hand and 
said, 'That will do, John, that will 
do, my boy,’ in a voice that was not 
steady and was altogether unlike 
his own. Of course, I soon came to 
understand it all, and I see now how 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 39 


I must have with my boyish ques- 
tions made their poor hearts ache 
with pain when they were almost, 
if not altogether, broken. 


Chapter iv. 


“He prayeth best who loveth best.” 

“Owing to this great sorrow and 
its effect upon father and mother, 
I did not go back to school, as you 
know; they needed me at home, 
for from that time mv father, who 
had always been a strong, hearty 
man, began to change. For a long 
time after she went away, he would 
not speak her name nor allow Mo- 
ther or me to call it in his presence 
without a word of disapproval. But 
after years went by and no word 
came from her, he first began to 
name her in his evening prayers. 

40 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


41 


It was then that the change became 
more marked. He became absent- 
minded. He would go to town and 
return without the things that 
Mother had sent him for. He would 
be carrying on a conversation, stop, 
and then forget where he had left 
off. He would turn the cows out 
after milking them, and then get up 
in the middle of the night and put 
on his clothes and go to turn them 
out, forgetting that he had already 
done so. 

“It became so noticeable that the 
neighbors began to make remarks 
about it. Mother and I thought 
that we knew what was troubling 
him, but it seemed best to let him 
fight it out by himself. Finally, one 
day in the fall of the year, he and 
I were plowing for wheat in the 
lower field. Father had stopped to 
rest his team and he sat down, as 
had been his custom for some time, 
on the trunk of that old sycamore 


42 


sis. 


tree that hangs far out over Bee 
creek and that lies so close to the 
ground; the very place where she 
and I used to sit as children, and 
with wrapping twine for lines and 
bent pins for hooks, fish for min- 
nows, while Father plowed in the 
field near by. This day he called me 
to him, and when I got there he 
was sobbing like a child. ‘There is 
no use trying/ he said, ‘this is where 
she — I can’t stand it any longer. 
Go, John, find her and bring her 
home/ 

“We unhitched our teams and 
went to the house and when we told 
Mother what we intended to do, she 
sat down and wept, wept for very 
joy at the prospect of seeing her 
lost child. It was decided that I 
start early in the morning for the 
city. I do not remember ever see- 
ing Father so happy as in his an- 
ticipation he instructed me in the 
minutest details, cautioned me time 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 43 


after time not to say this thing or 
that, as it might hurt her feelings, 
and then he said, 'John, you know 
that she won’t want you to consider 
her an object of charity. Tell her 
that this money I send is hers and 
that there is plenty more out here 
that rightfully belongs to her, and 
that I want her to come home and 
get it.’ 

“If my father had any doubt 
about finding her, he did not show 
it. I got an early start the next 
morning. Full of hope, I looked 
for her for several days in the city. 
From hell-hole to hell-hole, from 
red-light to red-light, but each day 
I had to return without her. Father 
did not give up so easy, but said we 
would both go the next day, which 
we did. I never saw him so deter- 
mined. He was so untiring in his 
efforts to find her. He would walk 
miles and miles — as long as we 


44 


sis. 


searched he did not complain of 
weariness. 

“But after days of search I no- 
ticed that he was going beyond his 
strength, and, realizing that our ef- 
forts were of no avail, I suggested 
that we return home, yet every time 
that I suggested it, he would plead 
with me like a child to go on. 'John- 
nie, let us go a little further, she 
might be there/ 

“It was pitiful to hear him — with 
full confidence that they must know 
— ask people we met if they knew 
of his little girl, his little girl Mary 
Jane. Again and again we went, 
until weeks lengthened' into months 
and months into years and each 
time after returning home he was 
completely prostrated. 

“The long searching, the long 
and fruitless watching was of no 
use. The disappointment began to 
tell on the old folks. Mother never 
had much to say. Her feelings and 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 45 


desires were always strongly re- 
pressed because of her love and 
sympathy for Father. They kept 
sending me, however, from place to 
place for a long time. Then, finally, 
as we gave up hope, we stopped 
talking about her, though I never 
went to the city without looking for 
her. 

“The old folks began to break 
rapidly under the strain and con- 
tinued disappointment. Father be- 
came so feeble that he could not do 
any more work on the farm. His 
thoughts seemed to be withdrawn 
from earthly things. He would sit 
by the fire and stare for hours at a 
time, at the flames. We knew his 
mind was on Sis for he was heard 
to murmur, 'We will find her some 
day/ The only thing connected 
with his former life that he mani- 
fested any interest in was the old 
Flintlock church up on Bee creek 
where he had attended and had 


46 


sis. 


been a devout member nearly all his 
life. Finally he left off going even 
there and then the end came 
quickly. 

“You must understand that my 
father’s religion was of the old 
school. He was what some people 
might today call a hard man. He 
walked the straight and narrow 
road himself and expected everyone 
else to do the same. Religion was 
to him God’s law, and that law 
must be obeyed. He was what is 
called a Hardshell Baptist; they 
are almost extinct today. But in 
his time the few who attended the 
old church up on Bee creek were of 
the same type as himself. They 
lived their religion; there was no 
playing at it for them. They never 
tried to deceive their fellow men. 
And they knew full well that they 
could not deceive their God. They 
took Him into their confidence 
and their everyday life. He was 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 47 


with them when they broke their 
ground that received the seed, and 
He was with them, the same God, 
when they reaped their harvest of 
sunshine or of shadows. And to 
this austere religion I attributed 
this inflexibility on the part of my 
father, that sent his only daughter 
into exile when it was discovered 
that she had left the narrow path. 

“Here is Father’s old Bible; it is 
thumbmarked from cover to cover, 
not just a few pages here and there, 
but all of them from the first to the 
very last page has been used as you 
see. From it he had gotten but 
part of its teachings and its truths. 
To him both heaven and hell were 
stern realities, this life but a fleet- 
ing shadow, to be endured, but not 
enjoyed. He studied this book more 
than any other. I am not complain- 
ing of father, for a truer man to his 
convictions never lived. He loved 
us all as he did his own soul. 


48 


sis. 


To me it seems that the old religion 
taught too much that God’s king- 
dom was in the skies, or in some far 
distant clime, but I tell you, my 
brother, that God’s kingdom is here 
among His people, here where ser- 
vice is. Nature has brought me 
close to my God. I love her as an 
open book. She has taught me all 
I know. The birds of the air as 
they have cared for their young and 
the tiny seeds that multiply them- 
selves by the kind assistance of na- 
ture’s sunshine and rains has taught 
me a great lesson out here in my 
country home. Yet after all, the 
greatest study is human nature, as 
shown in our large cities. Father 
missed that part of life. He only 
communed with his God. 

“To me the flowers and trees, 
every thing that lives and grows, 
that is beautiful, has always been 
a sweet communion. As I see it we 
must look at the whole of life, if we 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


49 


desire to get all there is in it. There 
is a dark side and there is a sunny 
side. Therefore, we can make our 
lives dark by always looking on the 
dark side, but if we will be honest 
with ourselves we will see some 
sunshine even in the darkest hours. 

“Mother kept up with her round of 
household duties, waiting on father 
as had always been her custom, not 
thinking of herself. But the years 
of silent suffering which had made 
her almost tolerant to pain began 
to show on her face and as she grew 
whiter and more frail, the beautiful 
spirit within found saintly expres- 
sion. Father's need of care seemed 
to have been the only thing that 
kept mother up. The separation 
was short, for she soon followed 
him. After this I was left alone in 
this house. 


Chapter v. 


“What has she done, this beggar child, 
Out in the cold, this night so wild?” 


“During these years I at first 
thought continually of Sis. It 
seems to me now that I never for- 
got her for a minute, but as my 
search had grown more and more 
hopeless with the passing years, 
and as my time had been more fully 
taken up with the cares of my par- 
ents, I thought less constantly of 
her and had almost lost hope of find- 
ing her, but after father and mother 
went I was left alone most of the 
time, therefore my thoughts fre- 
quently went back to her, and when 
that child down there on the side- 
50 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


51 


walk looked up with those truthful 
eyes which I remembered so well 
having seen in my youth, when Sis 
guided us in our play, I was a boy 
again, looking into the eyes of my 
sister, but in a moment the feeling 
passed and I knew this child was 
not the one that played with me in 
my boyhood days. That child, if 
living, would be a mature woman 
some older than myself. 

“I could not trust myself to look 
at her again, so I turned away and 
began to walk as fast as I could. I 
had been going thus for some time, 
lost in my bitter thoughts, when I 
became aware that everyone seemed 
to be going in the opposite direc- 
tion, which proved such an impedi- 
ment to my progress that I paused. 
While I had no place in particular 
to go, I wanted to go somewhere, 
anywhere to get away from myself 
if possible, so I crossed the street 
only to find the same condition 


52 


sis. 


there. After struggling against the 
living current for a time I allowed 
myself to be turned about like Poe’s 
man of a crowd, threw myself in 
the human tide and drifting with it 
I soon found myself like all the rest, 
going at a breakneck speed, and if 
you had asked me where I was go- 
ing I could not have told you. But 
such speed must soon bring us 
somewhere and we presently reach- 
ed the Auditorium theatre, where 
on the poster we read, 'Tonight, 
Joe Jefferson, in 'Rip Van Winkle.’ ’ 
"'Shall I go in?’ was the ques- 
tion. ‘Have I raced all this distance 
to no purpose?’ I could feel a round 
silver dollar in my pocket. 'Is it 
worth it?’ I thought; 'this money 
I have worked so hard for?’ I felt 
uncomfortable — I imagined that 
some of the bystanders were read- 
ing my thoughts, which were as 
plain, it seemed to me, as the nose 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 53 


on my face, so I moved restlessly 
out to the edge of the crowd. 

“I could feel the dollar in my 
pocket and I said, ‘It will take that 
much, if not more, to get a seat in 
the balcony among men. Is it 
a good investment to give this dol- 
lar to Jefferson, who does not need 
it? And just then the underlying 
thought which had been troubling 
me all the time and which I had 
been trying to fight down came 
flashing uppermost into my mind; 
‘Would it not have been better for 
me to have given it to that poor lit- 
tle child huddled down back there 
on the sidewalk holding in her tiny 
hand that battered tin cup ?’ ‘What 
music/ I thought, ‘would the jingle 
have been to her ears as I dropped 
the money into the cup.' 

“Straightway, without any hesi- 
tation, I passed the theatre door and 
began to retrace my steps. It seem- 
ed a long way back and I thought I 


54 


sis. 


would never get there. Something 
seemed to say to me all the time, 
‘Too late, too late.’ Everyone, I 
was sure, took special delight in 
stopping directly in front of me and 
standing there while I walked 
around; it seemed everything was 
done to delay my progress, while I 
was growing frantic in my haste, 
for I was by this time saying over 
and over to myself, ‘While that 
child is not my sister, she can be 
but one other, her child. How stu- 
pid in me not to have thought of 
that before/ 

“I crossed and re-crossed the 
street in order to avoid the crowd 
that I might make better progress. 
Finding this of little avail, I hailed 
a passing cab and told the man to 
drive like mad to the northeast cor- 
ner of Twelfth and Main streets, so 
great was my fear that the child 
might be gone. Soon I was at the 
place. Alighting and dismissing the 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 55 


cabman, I could see that the little 
form was not in the same position 
I had seen it a short time before, 
but was huddled down on the side- 
walk and as I drew nearer I could 
see that her head had dropped for- 
ward and her hand had somewhat 
relaxed its hold on the cup, which 
was now resting on the sidewalk. 
I was delighted and quickly 
dropped the money into the cup 
with all the noise possible, but she 
did not move. 

“After a moment’s pause I said 
with some fear, 'Sis, Sis,’ for I had 
already begun to feel that some- 
thing was wrong. Taking her little 
hand in mine, I found it as cold as 
death. Those eyes I longed to see 
open would not respond to my gaze 
or touch. I said, ‘The child is freez- 
ing/ and throwing off my coat, I 
hastily wrapped it about her form 
and began rubbing and chafing her 
hands in my frenzy as best I could, 


56 


sis. 


calling her all the while, 'Sis, Sis!’ 
and trying to raise the curtains 
which hid the eyes I would have 
given the world to see, if only for 
a moment, but all in vain. As I 
think of it now, it must have been 
a strange sight to the passing crowd 
to see a man sitting on the sidewalk 
hugging a dirty beggar child and 
crying, 'Sis, Sis!’ as if his heart 
would break; but then there are 
times, Jim, when a fellow doesn't 
care what the world thinks, and this 
was one of them to me. That child, 
with her toes showing through her 
shoes, clad in a thin calico dress, all 
faded and soiled, and an old worn 
out shawl, the only clothing cover- 
ing the delicate form, was more to 
me than all of the unsympathetic 
crowd which gathered around us in 
idle curiosity. 


Chapter vi. 


“Vice is a monster of so frightful a mien, 

As to be hated, needs but to be seen.” 

“Someone must have called a 
police ambulance, which soon came 
and took the child and me to the 
station, and there I told the officers 
all I knew about the child. 

"Did you ever visit an emergency 
room at a police station, Jim? 
Some give it the dignified name of 
hospital. If you haven’t then you 
need never want to, for many are 
the heart-rending sights one can see 
there in a day. I was there but a 
few short hours, but it was enough 
for me. The station is in the North 
End, you know, and perhaps you 
57 


58 


sis. 


pass it every day, but to know what 
goes on in the inside you must see 
it as I did. We entered the station 
on the market side through a large 
iron gate which closed with a loud 
clang, shutting us in, while the 
crowd pressed hard on the outside, 
peering through the iron grating. 
The bumping over the cobble- 
stones, the almost constant clang 
clang of the ambulance gong, the 
shout of the driver as the crowd 
slowly got out of the way — none 
of these seemed to disturb the child 
as she lay so white and helpless on 
the stretcher. There is nothing in 
the wide world that so appeals to 
a man, that gets so close to his 
heart, as a little, helpless child. 
You would protect them with your 
very life. You feel that you must 
throw your strong arms around 
them and in the words of Tim cry: 
‘God bless them every one/ 

“The child was quickly removed 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


59 


from the ambulance on the stretch- 
er and was taken by two officers 
down an iron stairway into a dark- 
like room while another officer, 
bidding me follow, led the way 
across the court into a side room, 
then up a flight of iron steps into 
a long room in which were a num- 
ber if officers, where I was scrutin- 
ized. Had questions fired at me 
from all sides, gruff and strong. 
They examined my hands. They 
took my name and address and full 
description and put them on record. 
After this was all over I was al- 
lowed to go down in what they 
called the operating room. We re- 
traced our steps into the court, 
across the court, then down another 
flight of iron steps into a roughly 
finished basement room where the 
child lay white and cold. 

“Words almost fail me when I 
try to describe this room to you. I 
don’t know of any place to compare 


60 


sis. 


it to. As I gazed at my surround- 
ings, I could think of nothing but 
a human slaughter house. The 
only daylight in the room was a 
small window up near the ceiling 
through which God's sunlight 
never penetrated. An electric light 
suspended from the ceiling hung 
over the wooden, trough-like table. 
The floor was of concrete, sloping 
to a drain in the centre. It was 
splattered and stained here and 
there with human blood. It looked 
as though it was never free from 
it. The bloody water flowed from 
the trough-like table, on which, at 
the present time lay a man whose 
scalp was literally cut to pieces. 
The doctor was busy shaving the 
hairs from the ragged pieces and 
threatening the poor devil with dire 
punishment, if he did not lie still. 
After finishing the shaving process, 
he began to sew with just about as 
much feeling or sympathy as I 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


61 


would show while sewing my 
broken harness, I asked the trouble. 
‘Plain drunk/ said the doctor. 

“In one corner of the room, on a 
cot, lay a girl about eighteen or 
nineteen years of age, to whom an 
officer was applying a stick with 
something like a sponge on the end 
of it. Every time he touched her 
with it, she cried out with pain. 
Then she would begin to sing or try 
to recite something. Then doze 
off when the officer would touch 
her again. And from time to time 
he would make her stand up and 
walk the floor. ‘Morphine route/ 
said the officer. ‘Not this time/ 
said the doctor. ‘Yes, you have 
cheated me this time, but you will 
not do it again/ shrieked the girl, 
with defiance in her voice. 

“After the doctor and officer had 
finished the work at hand, and 
things had become a little quiet, 
they left for a short time, and in 


62 


sis. 


the stillness, a rat stole out of its 
hiding place several times to pick 
up here and there pieces of flesh 
lying on the floor near the operat- 
ing table and then he would scurry 
back again. When the Doctor re- 
turned to his duties, I could smell 
something stronger than coffee, and 
while he was taking further meas- 
ures necessary to restore the child, 
my thoughts were busy with the 
questions: 'What next? Who is 
she? How can I find out? What 
must I do? And what will I be 
allowed to do? As I thought, one 
thing became clear to me, come 
what might, I would not lose 
sight of her; in the meantime I 
would do what I could for her. 
With this decision I began to give 
my whole attention to the little 
girl, watching developments. 

"I had not long to wait. Pres- 
ently as she was partly restored 
they began fixing to take her away 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


63 


and I wanted to know where they 
were going to take her. They 
said: 'To the City Hospital/ of 
course, where else? I had heard 
of that place before and shrank 
from the thought of her being 
taken there. I asked the privilege 
of taking her to a private institu- 
tion and being responsible for her. 
After some discussion this was 
granted. 

“I took the half-conscious form 
in my arms and we were taken to 
the Sisters’ Hospital. For a night 
and a day the little thing hovered 
between life and death, while my 
anxiety held me there almost con- 
stantly. It was a fight royal, but 
the victory over death was won and 
she fell into a quiet sleep from 
which she awoke with a clear mind. 
I shall never forget the glad mo- 
ment as I saw the (to me) beauti- 
ful eyes open and gaze around the 
room with a wondering expression. 


64 


sis. 


Just then one of the Sisters gave 
her some nourishment, which she 
accepted in silence. A few min- 
utes later one of the Sisters asked 
her what her name was, to which 
she replied 'Mamie/ 

“ 'Mamie what?’ asked the Sister. 

" 'Just Mamie,’ she answered, in 
a voice that was scarcely audible 
even to the Sister. 

"After letting her rest for a while 
the Sister asked again softly: 'Can’t 
you tell your mother’s name; my 
little girl.” 

"The child looked distressed and 
weakly exclaimed: 'I want to go 
home to my maw — she’s sick and 
can’t do nothing. 

"You can imagine, Jim, that I 
listened with breathless interest to 
those words as they fell from the 
lips of the little waif, my heart 
beating almost to suffocation. 
Again hope grew strong within my 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


65 


breast and I felt that I must learn 
more. 

“Leaning over and speaking so 
as not to frighten her I said: 'Tell 
me your maw's name, Mamie, and 
where she lives, so I can go tell her 
where you are. I'll help her and 
don't you worry/ 

“She looked at me intently for 
a moment before answering, as 
though taking my measure, and 
then said, slowly, that her mother's 
name was Jane. She could not tell 
where she lived, but said that it 
was a long row of houses just the 
same kind, with doors opening on 
the alley where a lot of women and 
children lived. No. 104, and that 
you went south from the market, 
but it was a long way. At this she 
made another effort to get out of 
bed, saying: 'Let me go, please, 
mister, My maw wants me.’ 

“I told her to stay where she was 


66 


sis. 


and that I would go and find her 
mother. 

“With this meager description I 
left her with the Sisters, who said 
that nourishment and care was 
about all she needed, and I went 
out again to seek for my sister. 


Chapter vii. 


“No one so accursed by fate. 

No one so desolate’” 

All day long I looked for her in 
the destitute places of your city. 
But I could find no trace of her. 

“The latter part of the evening 
found me at the McGuire flats, four 
long rows of miserable little tene- 
ments where no grass grew and 
where no flowers were, for the 
space was taken up with the build- 
ing which opened upon the narrow 
alley. Now the women and chil- 
dren had returned from their work 
and were gathering at their front 
doors drinking out of tin cans. 
Crowds of children gathered 
67 


68 


sis. 


around. Some were so dirty that 
you could not tell whether they 
were white or black except by their 
hair. I picked my way among 
them. Some stopped in their play 
and gazed at me while others paid 
no attention to me whatever. 

“I was looking for No. 104 and 
it was getting dark rapidly. Some 
of the numbers were over the 
doors, others were on the casings 
and were dim from age, while 
others were missing altogether. 
For this reason I knew that I must 
hasten. At the entrance to the al- 
ley I came upon an umbrella 
mender sitting in the open side of a 
piano box which, stood on end, 
serving as his house and place of 
business. He was busily plying his 
trade in the fading light. To him 
I applied for information. With- 
out looking up he pointed toward 
the lower end of the alley and with 
a gruff voice said, ‘Ask down there.’ 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 69 


“A few steps further on I stopped 
and asked a group of small children 
if they could tell me where I could 
find Jane, Mamie's mother? 

“'Mamie's maw? Oh, yes, she 
lives down there at the end of the 
row.' Another voice added : 'She's 
awful sick, mister.' Then as I 
turned to go on another called out : 
'Say, mister, does yer know whar 
Mamie is? She ain't been home for 
two days, and her maw's most 
crazy.' 

''At last I arrived at No. 104, 
which I was able to see by the 
flickering light of a passing wagon. 
When I knocked at the rickety 
door, it sounded as if the house 
was empty and my hopes fell 
again. I was full of apprehension. 
What if it was not my sister after 
all? What should I do? Must 
I wait or must I go back? 

“Pushing open the door, I looked 
in. All was darkness within. 


70 


sis. 


While I hesitated, I heard a voice 
that brought a lump to my throat 
and made my heart jump, a voice 
low and sweet to my ears, but 
trembling with anxiety as it said: 
‘Who is it? 

“I knew the voice full well, but 
it was all darkness within. I was 
afraid to speak, not knowing what 
to say as I was afraid of agitating 
a sick woman. Again the voice re- 
peated with a tone of some alarm, 
‘Who is it? Have they found my 
child ?* 

“As I stood in uncertainty a 
woman came from an adjoining 
room with a lamp and then I saw 
my sister lying on a miserable cot 
in the corner of the room. ‘Who 
are you? Where is my child ?” she 
asked. She was so greatly changed 
with ravages of disease, with anx- 
iety for her child and with much 
weeping that I doubted if, after all, 
this was my sister. But if not, she 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 71 


was a frail woman in extreme pov- 
erty and great distress, and my 
heart filled with pity and deep sym- 
pathy. Raising herself on her el- 
bow she again demanded, ‘Do you 
know anything about my child, 
Mamie?’ 

“I hastened to assure her that 
Mamie was all right and that if she 
would calm herself I would tell her 
all I knew about her child. 

“I pulled a stool up to her cot 
and sat down and I told her in as 
few words as possible what had 
happened. The reaction following 
her deep anxiety was almost too 
much for her and the weak arm 
gave way, the weary head fell upon 
the bundle of rags that served as a 
pillow and the eyes closed. I took 
up the wasted hand in my own and 
assured her that Mamie was safe. 
That I would see to her wants here- 
after. 

“As I tried to reassure her she 


72 


sis. 


opened her eyes and looked at me 
with intense earnestness as if try- 
ing to recognize me. The eyes 
were the same as those Mamie had 
raised to me on the street, the eyes 
of my sister. Then I leaned for- 
ward and said, 'Sis; Sis! She knew 
me almost instantly/’ 


Chapter viii. 


“Teach me to feel another’s woe. 

To hide the fault I see.” 

At this point John got up and 
walked the floor for some minutes, 
then he resumed : 

“I can't tell you in detail what 
took place between us, but in sub- 
stance it was as I shall tell you. 

“After the first excitement wore 
off somewhat, I told her as briefly 
as I could all that had happened 
since she left home, very much the 
same as I have told you except 
Father and Mother's death. She 
listened, eagerly drinking in every 
word, and her wonderful eyes 
glistened with tears which fell from 
73 


74 


sis. 


the long lashes and flowed over the 
wasted cheeks, as I told her how 
Father had longed to see her and 
had always said, “We will find her 
some day*.” 

“After I had finished my story, 
Sis lay quiet for a long time with 
her eyes closed and her wasted 
hand in mine, as if she was gather- 
ing strength for what she wanted 
to say. Finally she spoke: ‘It 
grieves me to know that you and 
father sought me in such places/ 

“ ‘But, Sis, I said — 

“ ‘Don't you excuse yourself, 
Bud. It was the most natural 
thing for you to do to seek me 
there. But from such vile places I 
have been free, thank God, and I 
hope He has used me as an instru- 
ment in saving other girls before 
it was too late from a life of sin and 
shame. Because I did their sewing 
as a means of making a living for 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 75 


myself and child, I came in contact 
with many of them. 

“ 'You must know by this time 
something of what it means to a 
girl in the condition that I was to 
come to a large city like this. You 
say, why did I come? Where else 
could I go?’ 

"I saw that the least thing I said 
would to my sister’s mind be mis- 
construed and that it was mine to 
listen. 

"She went on: 'I can not tell you 
all that happened. A stranger in 
a strange place, I went from door 
to door, but with the cold hand of 
indifference I was turned away 
from places where I asked and ex- 
pected protection. 

“ 'Having been raised in a Chris- 
tian home, in my repentance for my 
sin I naturally turned to the church 
people for encouragement and help. 

" 'Where is there a home under 
the control of the Protestant 


76 


sis. 


church that cares for the unfortun- 
ate girls? Where is there a hospital 
in charge of the Christian people, 
for the sick and the needy? Are 
they living the Christ-life they pro- 
fess? 

“ 'What is the matter with the 
church people of to-day? It takes 
money to belong to a church in a 
city, therefore our churches are 
composed of the well-to-do people, 
people who do not have to labor 
with their hands from day to day 
for a living. I have tried the 
church, it is a cold institution. 
They will greet you at the door, 
shake hands with you in a formal 
way. It always reminds me of the 
old pump in the barnyard at home, 
perhaps you have forgotten it, but 
many a time vou and I have gone 
down there to draw water for the 
stock on a hot day, and don’t you 
remember how the handle worked 
before you poured the water in that 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 77 


primed it? Well, that is the way 
those people shake hands with you, 
a kind of pump handle style. They 
do it because 'they feel that it is 
their duty. They need priming 
with the spirit of the sincere love 
of our Lord and Savior, Jesus 
Christ. 

“ 'You go to church and listen to 
the minister tell about the beauti- 
ful missionary spirit of the women 
and of the money given by them for 
foreign missions. While in their 
homes are girls that serve them in 
their dining rooms and kitchens, 
whose skin is as white and whose 
souls are as precious in the sight of 
God as their own. Yet they will 
elbow these girls for days, weeks, 
months and even years and never 
mention church to them, never in- 
vite them to sit at the Lord’s table. 

“ 'What do you think of that kind 
of religion? Do you think that the 
recording angels will strain their 


78 


sis. 


ears to catch every word that falls 
from the lips of these saints, about 
the heathen in foreign lands, when 
they have here close at hand those 
more willing to hear? And what 
are they doing for them? The 
folks of our fashionable churches 
must understand that it is not their 
money we want so much as their 
fellowship and sincere good will. 
That they must meet us, if they 
meet us at all, on an equality so 
far as religion is concerned. But 
that would breed familiarity, they 
say. That is their excuse. Per- 
haps God will accept it. I don't 
know. I only know that the church 
is not the power for good among 
the working class that it should be. 
In my opinion the reason for it is 
not far to search. While the 
church is not performing its duty, 
places of sin are always open and 
the glowing lights of hell beckon 
you at every corner to come in. It 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 79 


seems to me that some natures 
must face the lowest pits of hell be- 
fore they can begin to re-build their 
character. 

“ 'I felt that I was the most sin 
ful being on the face of the earth 
I had struck rock bottom on which 
I must build a future of which my 
child would not be ashamed. I 
found work in a restaurant at last, 
peeling potatoes in a back room. 
There I got my meals and enough 
money to pay for my bed. When I 
was taken sick I was sent to the 
City Hospital. I remained there a 
fortnight, when they discharged me 
with my baby in my arms. 

“ 'Then the real battle for life 
began. I was weak and heart-sick, 
yet had a strong desire to live — live 
for my child. All my efforts were 
useless. I could not find work. 
Many said if it wasn’t for the child 
they would employ me, but I could 
not give her up; I would not, I 


80 


sis. 


vowed that I would starve on the 
street first, which I came near 
doing. 

You will understand how intense 
my suffering was, wandering the 
streets when I tell you that I went 
down to the river with my child in 
my arms, my mind made up, for 
some unresistable power was taking 
hold of me. I know now that my 
mind was becoming unbalanced 
from long suffering. It seemed to 
me at first that I must do it to pro- 
tect my child. To me death was no 
enemy but my friend. 

For some reason I stood for a mo- 
ment there on the dark and slippery 
bank of the Missouri River watch- 
ing the large cakes of ice as they 
jostled each other with great force 
along the cold and sluggish stream. 
One step, just one step would have 
ended all. But the cry of my little 
babe as she lay on my breast was 
enough, thank God, to bring me to a 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


81 


realization of the awfulness of what 
I was about to do. All the teach- 
ings of my former life came flashing 
over me, yet I could easily have 
thrown myself in, but my child, I 
could not commit murder. I shrank 
away and from that time on I have 
wanted to live for her. 

Finally I found this place, which 
made it possible for me to keep 
my child with me. Days, weeks 
and months lengthened into years 
and there was scarcely a day up 
to three months ago, as they came 
to me for their sewing, that I did 
not have a heart to heart talk with 
some poor unfortunate girl, many 
a time sending for her parents. 
Had them meet their child in this 
room, seen them take her to their 
hearts and to their homes again. 
So naturally has this work come to 
me that it seems as if it might have 
been sent of God, sewing for them 


82 


sis. 


as best I could, as I tried to call 
them back to the better life. It 
was not hard to get their confi- 
dence. 


Chapter ix. 


“There is no death! The stars go down to rise 
upon some fairer shore.” 

“ ‘Bud! If I had the time and the 
strength to tell you some of the 
pitiful stories that have been wrung 
from the hearts of these girls as 
I have plead with them to quit 
their life of sin and shame. But 
then, you can’t understand it, you 
have never known what it is to 
suffer for something to eat; you 
have never known what it is to 
suffer from cold without any place 
to go, save the ones I have named; 
when you were forced to walk 
the streets all night to keep warm; 
driven from doorway to doorway 
83 


84 


sis. 


and from shelter to shelter; and 
as you drag your body on and 
on you feel like crying out at 
Nature for being so hard and cruel, 
but it is not Nature that is cruel, 
for Nature is God’s law and God is 
good. It is only the people who are 
hard and cruel. 

“ ‘The world has progressed, but 
it has not outgrown white slavery. 
The inequity of life here is hideous. 
We do not need to have hell 
preached to us, for we know it is 
here. The poor working people 
must feel that the churches are 
deeply concerned about them, be- 
fore they can reach them. There 
are many around us everywhere 
who are falling beneath their bur- 
dens. That man loves God most 
who helps man most. With His 
outstretched hand Christ touched 
humanity in its direst need. 
Through service I have come very 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


85 


close to my Savior and in serving 
others I have been saved. 

“ ‘Oh, Bud, it was pitiful that I 
should have left my childhood 
home, the father and the mother I 
loved so well and you, the chum 
and playmate of my childhood 
days, the clean country air, whole- 
some surroundings of home, to face 
the misery and blackness of de- 
spair. Homeless and alone in a 
great city! But, through my hard 
experience, I have been able to 
whisper hope and comfort to many 
another despairing one, and I am 
almost content, especially now 
that I have seen you and know that 
my child will be cared for/ 

“She paused from exhaustion. 
After resting for a while she con- 
tinued : 

“ ‘Of late I have been too weak 
to do any sewing, therefore I have 
seen less of them, yet some of them 
have come from time to time and 


86 


sis. 


what they have given me and what 
Mamie has gotten on the street has 
been sufficient to keep us alive.’ 

“ ‘But to-morrow,’ I exclaimed, 
‘I shall take you home.’ 

“ ‘Home,’ she said, “for Mamie 
that is best. I have prayed all these 
years that I might live long enough 
to see Mamie in a better home than 
this. God has answered my pray- 
ers. But for me, my home is where 
I can serve God, and here I have 
found service, service I would glad- 
ly continue, but it is nearly finished. 
Oh, for time, for time. There are 
so many girls who need my help 
but I must go. Things are getting 
dark and darker,’ she said. 

“I felt the wasted hand slip 
on my arm. 

“Then she said: ‘It is lighter 
now, Bud, yet I must hasten.’ 

“Then I realized that my sister 
was dying, I knew the thought 
uppermost in her mind was of 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 87 


Mamie and I assured her again 
that I would care for her and give 
her my name, her name. Then she 
was quiet for a long time as if gain- 
ing strength for one supreme ef- 
fort. In my weak way I tried 
to assure her that everything was 
all right. I could not bring my- 
self to think that I must lose her 
just as I was finding her. “ 'We 
will get Mamie and then we will 
all go home to’ — 

"Then she said: 'I know it all, 
Bud, there is nobody there now, 
they are all gone. More than once 
at night have I hovered around the 
old home; hugged the stock in the 
barnyard; crawled up to the win- 
dow and looked in and seen you all 
gathered peacefully around the 
cheerful fireplace. It was the one 
joy of my isolated life next to that 
of being with my own child, that 
this unhappy heart of mine has 
known since the night I was’ — but 


88 


sis. 


she did not finish the sentence. She 
could not say the word, but went 
on: 'The last time I was there I 
saw the new-made graves.’ 

“ T bear no ill-will toward any- 
one. My father was a good man, 
but my sin was the unpardonable 
one to him. I did not suppose that 
he ever could forgive me. I thought 
he could not, but I knew that I had 
my Heavenly Father’s forgiveness.’ 

"'Yes, Sis, your earthly father 
forgave you a thousand times be- 
fore he died.’ 

"Then I heard her say, "That is 
all. Care for my child, keep her. 
She can be Sis to you.’ 

"And the last words my sister 
said, so low, yet the tone was such 
that I had to look, as she said : 
'Here I am, Father.’ 

"It was as if she spoke to some 
dear one in our very presence. It 
might have been our earthly 
father’s spirit or our Father in 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 89 


Heaven, she saw. That I do not 
know. Her expression was as if 
she was about to greet some dear 
friend and the trembling lips moved 
with the words, 'Here I am. She 
died with that happy expression on 
her face.” 


Chapter x. 


"He took her from the haunts of woe and sin, 

Qne of Christ’s little ones, home with him.’’ 

As John finished his story, he 
crossed the room to the window 
and Jim followed. With the com- 
ing of the dawn they could see 
three graves, father, mother and 
Sis, all covered with snow, lying 
side by side. 

“You see, John/' said Jim, as he 
laid his hand in a sympathetic way 
on his friend’s shoulder, “whatever 
their differences in this life, how 
far apart their footsteps in the 
walks of life may have led them, 
Nature has brought them all close 
together and given each a covering 
90 


A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 91 


of purity. God is no respector of 
persons.” 

“But Mamie, John, Mamie?” 
asked Jim. 

“Mamie, oh, yes, little Sis,” said 
John, with a strong accent on little. 
His facial expression changed as if 
by magic. 

“That is the sweetest name I ever 
heard, and she is one of the sweet- 
est girls I ever knew. She has 
brought nothing but joy into my 
life. 

At this John, almost with boyish 
glee, beckoned Jim through a door 
into an adjoining room. What a 
contrast to the other rooms with 
their old-fashioned furniture. Here 
everything was modern and up to 
date; a beautiful brass bed with its 
snowy counterpane; maple furni- 
ture. Everything, in fact, about 
the room denoted refinement and 
girlish taste, even to the college 
pennant on the wall over the door. 


92 SIS. A MISSOURI VALLEY STORY. 


The pictures blended with the dain- 
ty and artistic decorations. John 
took great care that he did not dis- 
turb a single thing in the room as he 
moved about as though it was 
something sacred to him. And with 
much pride in his voice he said: 

“This is her room. Just now she 
is away at school, and that is what 
makes me so lonesome, you see. 
That is why I have kept you up all 
night while I unburdened my heart 
to you. Forgive me, friend, keep it 
a secret, I know you will. 

“Come back here Christmas time 
and you will find in this old house 
sunshine everywhere — for Little Sis 
will be here.” 






































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